Lumina Foundation is working to increase the share of adults in the U.S. labor force with college degrees or other credentials of value leading to economic prosperity.
It never occurred to Ryan that going to college could endanger his parents’ safety until he was halfway through filling out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid form. He sat at his computer, staring at the box he had to click, acknowledging that his parents didn’t have Social Security numbers. It was in that moment he understood the risk he was about to take.
The FAFSA form is required for anyone applying for federal financial aid, and for many low-income students it is the only possible route to affording a college degree. The U.S. Department of Education is not supposed to share student information with agencies responsible for immigration enforcement. But those norms on data sharing have changed, leaving some students with undocumented parents opting not to apply for federal financial aid, even though they’re eligible.
A dead weight. An albatross. The biggest regret of her life. Dottie Orzechowski has never known adulthood without student loan payments. After working as a health and physical education teacher at a public school, she went back to college to earn more degrees that could help increase her pay and job security. Over time, her balance grew to $215,000.
Orzechowski enrolled in the "Saving on a Valuable Education" plan, a Biden-era repayment option with generous terms intended to help struggling borrowers make affordable payments. Now, as the SAVE plan winds down, borrowers like Orzechowski are facing the prospect of restarting payments at monthly rates they can no longer afford.
Arizona State University is no stranger to testing out new ways of delivering education. This month, the institution began piloting a new artificial-intelligence platform that, for a fee of $5 a month, purports to turn faculty lectures, slide decks, and quizzes into instant, personalized courses.
The problem? Many professors are discovering that the tool, known as Atomic, has repackaged their own words, faces, and ideas without their knowledge.
Every Tuesday, almost like clockwork, the U.S. Department of Education would update a public list of schools and colleges it was investigating for possible violations of students’ civil rights. Every Tuesday, that is, until Jan. 14, 2025, six days before President Donald Trump took the oath of office for his second term. Today, the online list remains as it was that week before inauguration: frozen in time.
For decades, the Office for Civil Rights has worked to uphold students’ constitutional rights against discrimination based on disability, race, national origin, and gender. Now, without a publicly accessible way to track the office’s investigations, journalists, education watchdogs, and parents may find themselves in the dark.
Fort Lewis College has spent years taking stock of its history as a federal Indian boarding school and working with local tribes to make amends. It has published research on student abuses, held listening sessions with tribal leaders, and enhanced support for its Native American students, who comprise over a quarter of enrollment.
Now Fort Lewis College's first Indigenous president, Heather J. Shotton, has big plans to continue the work she helped launch.
Maryland’s economy faces a paradox. Employers across industries—from healthcare and technology to public education—are searching for skilled workers, while many residents are looking for pathways to stable careers capable of supporting their families. Whether because of a lack of experience or credentials, the talent pipeline is not keeping pace with demand.
Could apprenticeships be the solution to bridging that gap? Some education and policy experts are counting on it.
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